Enemy's Toils
by Conjure Lass
Summary: Being king of Hueco Mundo should have been fun...too bad it came with more complications than he'd expected. Who knew being royalty was such a pain in the ass? This will eventually be M, but for now it's only R for really bad language.
1. Chapter 1

**Greetings all! I know some of you were expecting to see some Uraichi when you saw that i'd update...but Grimmjow hijacked my brain tonight and brought you...this. It might be a series after Sour Apple is complete. Who knows?**

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Fuck that hurt…

In retrospect, I probably should have known that Nnoitra would do something pussified like slash me from behind at the last possible minute. I should have been expecting it. But truthfully, I'd had my hands a little full at the moment. There was a brown-eyed punk that I was dying to teach a lesson to, and I really hadn't been paying attention to anything but the feel his robes sliding beneath my fingers and the frantic rush of my own heart telling me that there was no possible way I could win this fight. I was too torn up, I was too exhausted, and I was too…

Eh…as if I'd ever listened to logical reasoning before. If I'd done that I never would have emerged from the sands of Hueco Mundo.

But then that gangly fuck had come up and nearly cut me in half, leaving my body in what I could only assume was a mangled pile on the ground. It wasn't as though I could feel much anyway, seeing as how the moment his blade had sunk through my skin I'd pretty much lost the ability to think of anything more complex than "ow" and "holy shit". Death was coming for me (again), and it didn't wear an ugly striped mask and have hair the color of pumpkins in October like I'd thought it would…hoped it would. Nope, it wore a big, frilly, gaudy white collar and had teeth so long you could put them next to the whale exhibit in the national wildlife museum.

And goddamn that pissed me off.

I had closed my eyes, resigned to my humiliating end, when the clang of steel on steel jarred my senses awake, made me nearly jump (which hurt like hell) and stare at the black cloak billowing out over my nearly lifeless form. No…way…there was no goddamn way! But it was. There stood Kurosaki, zanpakuto raised in defense of me, cockily staring down Nnoitra as though the kid wasn't covered in blood and gore and breathing like he'd run a fucking marathon. I had no words. Even if I'd been able to speak (which I couldn't, but no one needed to know that) I wouldn't have been able to find the right phrase to describe the rush of strange emotions that whipped through me like wildfire. Why would he do something so stupid!? I knew he was retarded, but this seriously took the cake.

"Look at you Grimmjow!" Nnoitra spat from that nasty mouth, making me wish I could move if only to slam my fist right into his windpipe. "First you lost and now you're letting your enemy protect you?!"

Couldn't argue there. It _was_ pretty pathetic. But really, I wasn't exactly letting the damn shinigami do anything since my motor functions had ceased to exist. What was I supposed to do? Wiggle my pinky finger around and demand that he stop?

The world became somewhat unfocused at that point, though there were vague patches that I remember more clearly. Neliel's tits hanging out of that torn potato sack she'd been wearing, Kurosaki screaming in pain and rage, Nnoitra laughing, and then there were voices I didn't recognize, reiatsu I couldn't quite place. After that everything went gray for a while…and I thought for sure I was going to die…de-evolve…something. But I didn't. I just kept floating through some half-remembered dream, thoughts bubbling up in my head only to be swallowed back down again by half-felt agony raging through my body. Damn six-legged bastard…

The last thing I remember before the whole world was swallowed by inky darkness was that Kurosaki had actually saved my life. Saved my fucking life. And I couldn't die knowing that I owed someone a debt like _that_. Even if it _was_ a stinking shinigami bastard. I have some rules after all…warped and distorted as they are.

I don't know how long I was out, a few hours at most…but I awoke to find myself curled up in the sand half underneath a large piece of broken concrete. My shoulder was already well on its way to being healed, steady waves of reiatsu pulsing through my veins, restoring me as quickly as possible. People might have thought that being a hollow was some kind of curse, but the regenerative powers of that side of my nature was probably what had saved my life in the first place. That and Kurosaki.

Argh…there he was again, right there at the forefront of my mind, refusing to let me simply rest and lick my wounds in peace. As if it wasn't bad enough that I had lost to his dumb ass, now I had to think about him every second of the day too? It seemed unfair. What had I ever done to deserve such a steep punishment?

Don't answer that.

Slowly I began testing out my sore muscles, trying to move them one by one, finding that I was able to at least sit up and get a better feel for what was going on. My eyes burned when I cracked them open, wishing that I was out in the desert of Hueco Mundo where it was dark and quiet rather than this never-ending false daylight that Aizen had created to make himself feel better. I hated that asshole so much…the condescending prick. If I'd been able to kill him I would have, but I'm not stupid enough to think that I could match that kind of raw strength. It's better to live a little longer and get stronger than to jump into a fight with someone who you know for a fact that you can't beat.

Which reminded me…how had Kurosaki fared in his fight with Nnoitra?

Somehow I managed to push myself to my feet, wobbling a little before gaining steady footing. Holy fuck! The place was a wreck! Me and Kurosaki had done a really good job of demolishing it, but whoever had been fighting Nnoitra practically annihilated half of Los Noches! Awesome. I'd never had much attachment to the palace anyway. It was too big, too white, too stark, too boring, too clean…just too much. It was kind of nice to see it in such a state of shambles.

A small moan from behind made me glance over my good shoulder to the ball of green hair laying near a piece of rock, propped up against it at a painful angle. Neliel looked at me with those big, annoying eyes and cocked her head confusedly, as if she couldn't believe I was alive. Hell…I couldn't believe I was alive either. I couldn't believe she was alive. I couldn't believe the shinigami hadn't blown the whole building apart trying to get at us.

"Neliel?" I raised an eyebrow, bending at the waist to look at her. She was so pathetic like this, such a simple meal, but I just didn't feel like devouring her. It would have been too easy. I preferred my prey have a little fight in them…made the end result sweeter. It was why I wanted Kurosaki so bad; he was the ultimate quarry. "What the hell's going on? Where is everybody?"

She shrugged lightly, putting her hands up in the air as if to further illustrate her ignorance. Great, so she had no idea what was going on either. Damn it. Not that she would have been much help anyway in that ridiculous form, but at least then I might have known where to start looking.

I didn't know what I was going to do when I found Kurosaki. Thank him? Yeah fucking right. Fight him? That seemed…out of place considering the circumstances. Fight _with_ him? If there was any option that might be the one I took. True, I'd look like a huge traitor, but Aizen's goals had never been _my_ goals to begin with. I hunted whomever I felt like hunting. I did whatever I felt like doing. Aizen had simply made that prerogative easier for me. So if I felt like helping the shinigami out of some strange sense of honor than that's what I would do.

Now I just had to find him…them…him.

"See ya around Neliel," I waved at her as I walked away, sliding down a bank of sand to land gently at the bottom.

It was then, as I began to draw enough power to open up a garganta, that I realized I was missing something. Pantera! Where was Pantera? I glanced around the barren landscape almost frantically, feeling out my lost zanpakuto, until suddenly from the corner of my eye I saw a glimmering light sticking out from the sand. I knew that shine. It felt good in my hands when I drew it from the sand, brushing off the dusty handle and raising it up towards the false light. There were a few scuffs on the guard, blood dried and caked with grit all along the cutting edge, a bit dinged up, but it was still the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

Time to go.

Usually I hate trips through the garganta, long and monotonous, but in this case I didn't mind it so much. It was a brief opportunity to continue healing, to collect my scattered thoughts and to solidify my intentions in my mind. Not that it was probably going to work. In all actuality the damn walk was way too short, but I wasn't going to admit that to myself. That would have meant I was afraid, and I most certainly was _not_ scared. My whole world was changing, just like it had when I first became an Espada. I felt as though the entirety of my existence was being altered in a split second, reformed forever under Aizen's hand. Again.

The portal opened up into a battle zone, a charred body (I had no idea who that was) soaring through the air over my head as I stepped out onto solid ground. Everything around me was chaos, fighting, screaming, running…it was almost like being back in the menos forest only without the trees. If I hadn't been so keen on finding Kurosaki I might have stuck around and indulged in a little nostalgia, but as it was I just didn't have the time. The subtle joys of the battlefield would just have to be put on hold until all the lose ends were tied up.

Sniffing the air slowly, I took a few steps down the street and paused. I was half expecting some wet-nosed shinigami to come and challenge me to a useless battle at any moment, so it was quite a surprise when no one really paid me any attention whatsoever. For once I was glad to be snubbed. I didn't have enough energy to fight in some petty scrapes _and_ help Kurosaki. I'd be lucky to have enough stamina to keep up with the kid this time around.

Ugh…I was going to help Kurosaki Ichigo…I had to be crazy. It left such a nasty taste in my mouth to think about it.

Unfortunately there was no time to stop and reconsider what I was about to do. My senses were as open as I could make them, weaving in and out of the raging spiritual pressure, trying to pick Kurosaki out of the crowd. It was difficult to find him, walking in one direction only to feel him from another and having to turn around. I was starting to worry that I wasn't going to be able to locate him at all until his reiatsu flared like a supernova from somewhere to the north.

With that I was off, sonido carrying me as fast as I could manage through the tall buildings, skidding around corners in a blind attempt to make it to him in time. I didn't know what the rush was, I certainly didn't like the damn shinigami by any stretch of the imagination, didn't care what happened to him. But there was a part of me that was desperate to get to him, to make sure that if he was going to die that I was there to see it…or to be the one to do it.

Or something like that…I wasn't sure anymore.

My feet came to a grinding halt in the street, concrete flying up around me as I stared somewhat flabbergasted at the presented scene. There was Kurosaki, fighting just as hard as he'd been fighting me, swinging his sword towards Aizen who actually appeared to be…somewhat winded. The two swords clashed, and the force of their combined reiatsu made my hair blow back from my face, mouth gaping open like I was a newborn hollow laying prone in the sand.

Kurosaki…moved like a god. There were no other words for it. He pulsed and flowed and dodged and swung like he'd been born to do it, like he was battle incarnate. Like he _was_ the sword. His baby face was set in stern lines, concentration focused and sharp, the last of his mask hanging onto one eye, just like it had been during our battle. His body was covered with sweat, blood dripping down one temple to run in scarlet rivers down his neck to soak into his shirt. I'd never been so aware of another human being, living or dead. It struck me like a ton of bricks, made me shake my head to clear whatever had been going on within it.

What was wrong with me?

Though it seemed like minutes had gone by, in reality only seconds had passed, and without thinking I rushed headlong into the battle. Kurosaki was down to one knee, that pure black blade rising up in a defensive stance as Aizen's sword came crashing down upon him. That arrogant bastard probably thought he had the kid beat, that nothing could possibly save him, that he was doomed. Wrong. The moment that weapon went on the downswing was the moment that it met with Pantera, my eyes narrowing over the top of my blade in defiance. I couldn't kill this man, not alone, but I had done dumber shit before and always come out on top anyway. Besides…he was too cocky…the only one who was allowed to be that smug was me. And maybe Kurosaki.

"You…" the redhead murmured, blinking up at me as I grinned at him over my shoulder. There was a strange softness in his gaze, a disbelieving expression written plainly across his features. If I couldn't beat him, at least I could shock the living hell out of him. The sensation was quite satisfying, curling in my chest to purr like a content cat. No pun intended. "What the fuck…"

"I owe you."

And he grinned at me, a weird lopsided smile that looked as if he didn't smile often enough for it to be natural. Much to my own surprise I found that I liked it anyway…even though if Aizen had his way I'd never see it again. Not that I would admit to liking it even if I managed to live through this. Nope. Not my style.

"Thanks."

"Yeah, yeah," I rolled my eyes to turn my attention back to the very scary man in front of us. "You're just glad to have your ass pulled out of the fire."

"More like surprised to see who's hand came in to grab it."

I could have made a really raunchy joke…but I decided to save it for later. I didn't think the kid would get it anyway…


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi again guys! I thought after last week's huge update on Sour Apple, that it was time to work on Enemy's Toils for a bit. So here I am! I'm determined to write a really good story for this pairing because unfortunately a lot of the fandom's authors can't seem to get these two IC to save their lives. My goal is to not delve into the OOC realm with these two if at all possible. We'll see how it goes.**

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Kurosaki smelled like a fucking girl.

That was the first thought that bubbled through my head as I lay on my stomach somewhere close beside him, both of us too exhausted to move, too beaten up to speak. But at least we were alive…the same couldn't be said for Aizen. That alone was enough to make me grin, even though the strain of doing so almost made my face hurt. Everything hurt. Everything down to my toenails. But he was dead. The man who had ruled over my life, turned me into a slave with a number, taken over my very fate; we had killed him. Finally.

I would have thanked god if I believed in that sort of thing.

"You gonna make it?" Kurosaki's body shifted fractionally towards me, his voice strained and full of gravel. Under other circumstances it might have been sexy, but that would mean that I somehow found him attractive. And I didn't. I didn't find Kurosaki attractive in the least.

I opened my own eyes painfully, amazed that even my damn eyelids were sore, and peered at him. He was a wreck, torn and bloody, but he still managed to look happy. Did I look happy too? I couldn't really tell seeing as how most of my body was numb, but I felt pretty good. Content. Was that happiness? I didn't know.

"Do you really care?" I quipped back, feeling a bit of blood drip across my bottom lip to be caught by my waiting tongue. It tasted good, coppery and sweet, reminding me that I wasn't dead yet. Not yet. I still had things to do. "Aren't we supposed to be arch rivals or some shit?"

He was silent for a long minute, his face a kaleidoscope of emotions, unable to settle on one specific theme. What was he thinking? I wasn't good enough at gauging emotions to really tell; what need did a warrior have for such crap? But he seemed to be making some sort of big decision, as though whatever he was about to say was so important to his future that it was almost frightening to express. I didn't do fear. I said whatever came to my mind and took the consequences that came my way. Yes, you might call that stupidity. I called it tactless. Not the same thing at all.

Wait…why did I give a fuck what Kurosaki was thinking? Dammit! There he was again, tiptoeing through the private parts of my mind when I hadn't rolled out the welcome mat. Bastard.

"Yeah I care. You saved my life."

I blinked dumbly, wishing I had enough energy to shake my head. This kid…he made no sense. Why the fuck would you care about someone that had repeatedly tried to take your life? Why would you care about the person who had pounded your face into ground meat and left you for dead in the middle of the street? What would possess you to give a rat's ass about your enemy? It made no sense.

Then again, I _had_ just saved his life, so I guess I wasn't one to talk.

"You're an idiot." I coughed, wincing sharply. From the pain shooting through my body, I could only assume that my lungs were coming up through my throat. Or at least that's what it felt like. It was like every internal organ I possessed (minus my stomach naturally) was out of place…and god did I ache. I hoped that Aizen was down in Hell somewhere, getting his dick torn off over and over and over again with a salad fork. Or a screwdriver. Something painful.

Kurosaki made a concerned noise beside me and scooted a little closer, though he only managed to get about an inch and a half before he collapsed heavily, our fingertips within centimeters of touching. We stared at each other after that, me on my stomach, him on his back, and didn't know what to say. We'd both acted out of character, we'd both done things that we probably never thought we'd do and couldn't take back. It changed things between us, changed us forever, the dynamic of our morbid relationship altering and warping. I fucking hated it. Why couldn't things ever stay simple?!

"Ichigo!" A female voice, contralto, yelled from somewhere close by, the sound of scuffling shoes approaching our direction. I recognized that voice. It was that one shinigami bitch I'd shoved my hand through when I first met Kurosaki. She was a pretty little thing, and her insides had been hot and sticky all over my fingers when I grabbed at her intestines. Such a lamb. The memory made me grin.

There was murmuring all around me as Kurosaki was hauled to his feet, our eyes meeting as they surrounded him, leaving me to lie on my belly in the tattered concrete. What would happen to me now? There was no way I could defend myself against so many shinigami, not in my current condition. Shamefully I felt like curling up in a ball, hiding, to somehow shield myself from view so maybe they'd overlook me. A guy could hope. Because if they didn't I was going to die…and after all that I'd been through, I didn't really want to.

My blood pooled thick and bright below me as I was seized backwards by rough hands, too tired to even struggle in their grasp. Again I caught Kurosaki's gaze, and his innocent eyes widened monumentally as he shrugged off the bracing arms of his comrades, taking a few steps in my direction. Suddenly his mouth was moving, but I couldn't hear the sounds, my whole world becoming silent and dark. Uh-oh…was I passing out again? Fuck. All I knew was that he looked desperate, like he was trying to make a point, like he wanted to get to me for one reason or another. Vaguely, I wondered why.

My confusion only lasted moments before the darkness consumed me for the second time in one day…this was becoming an unwelcome trend…

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

I once again awoke to solitude, the air around me stale and cool, fading light warming my lap. A small breeze blew across my forehead, scattering my hair across my face, and I reached up to push it away as I opened my eyes. I was in someone's bedroom, a sparsely decorated space that looked kind of like a student's room, really boring if you asked me. Then again, I was used to the blank white walls and empty white rooms of Las Noches, so compared to that this place was almost cluttered.

What was left of my stomach ached as I attempted to sit up, clutching at muscles that stung and throbbed in protest to my movement. Somewhere along the way I'd been partially healed, but obviously I wasn't at one-hundred percent yet because I could barely swing my legs to the floor before I felt kind of winded. Fuck. Why couldn't that redheaded woman have healed me? She seemed to know what she was doing.

"You're not going anywhere, so lay the hell back down and stay quiet."

Everything spun around me as I whipped my head around to the source of the voice, blinking a few times to ease the dizziness. Oh fuck no. Fuck. No. And yet there he was, orange hair screaming in the last vestiges of sunlight glittering from between the gently blowing curtains, holding a mug of some kind of steaming liquid in his hand. Kurosaki walked in (fully healed I noticed) and stared down at me, his expression unreadable, shifting from foot to foot a few times before opening his mouth to speak.

"Look--"

"Where the fuck am I and why the fuck did you bring me here?" I interrupted sharply, narrowing my gaze to appear at least somewhat intimidating. It probably wouldn't work very well though considering I was…wearing a pair of pajama pants that were kind of hanging off my hips like I was four years old. Whoever owned these was a fatass. It was almost too embarrassing to look down at the little patterns all over them because from what I could see from my peripheral vision it appeared to be little flying pigs.

Humans were so fucking retarded.

"Don't start shit! You're lucky to be here and not where Soul Society wanted to put you!" Kurosaki snapped his cup down on his desk, pointing an index finger at me. Lucky? He was lucky I hadn't reached forward and ripped that waggling digit off with my fucking teeth by now. What was he, my little conscience fairy or something? That thought kind of made me laugh inwardly…Kurosaki in a dress with a wand…heh…

"Where is here?! I didn't ask you to save me Shinigami! I don't need your fucking charity." My head was starting to pound; a dull pain building up behind my eyes that I wasn't sure came from my wounds or from Kurosaki. Either way I wanted to lie back down and bury my head under a pillow where no one could find me for a while. Of course, I wasn't going to do that. The brat was still in the room and I'd be damned if I let him see how weak I was right now. No way. He'd already seen it too many times for me to count on one hand and he wasn't getting any more viewings.

"My house! My room! Do you need a map? Are you stupid?!" He took two steps forward, hands balled into fists at his side. "Gods…why the hell did I save your ungrateful life?"

"I don't know. I guess that just makes you an even bigger idiot than I'd pegged you for," I sniffed, regarding him coolly.

Tense seconds passed as we stared at each other, the vein near the top of his head starting to bulge out with his annoyance, a trace of blood welling up through his fingers where he was digging his nails into his palms. It made me grin, leaning back on my elbows (secretly I just didn't have the strength to keep myself upright anymore) to observe him and sighing dramatically. The kid was just too easy to fuck with. Really. He needed to learn to relax.

"You…" he stuttered, voice shaking with barely-contained fury. "You…I…you…dammit…you!"

There are few things in life more painful than having your dick set on fire. I was entirely sure of that as Kurosaki dumped his entire mug (looked like coffee) into my lap, a very unmanly sort of sound squeaking from my lips as the steam rose from my crotch. Holy fucking shit! Even with my body being as tired and sore as it was I still jumped to my feet, trying to keep the tears from springing up into my eyes as the intense burn faded into a slightly-less-intense-but-still-ball-scorching burn. That…little…fucker…

Instantly my hands were around his neck, slamming him back into his bedroom closet with the intent of choking the life out of him, ignoring the wash of raw hurt that thrummed through my veins. I didn't want to use Pantera (I didn't know where he was anyway), no no, I wanted to strangle Kurosaki to death. It would be so lovely to watch the spark drain out of those perfect brown eyes while he clawed at my arms and struggled against me. He was such an easy kill in this flimsy human body, so perfectly fragile and frail. Like a piece of hard candy to crush between my teeth. Sweet. So sweet.

"You goddamn…let me…go!" Kurosaki squeezed out through clenched teeth, his cheeks turning a very delightful shade of purple.

I had barely even started to press down with my fingers into his soft skin when his leg came out and crashed into my stomach, sending me hurtling backwards, nearly onto my ass. I could feel the deep wound on my upper abdomen open back up, a steady stream of blood soaking through the bandages around my torso to trickle down my thighs. At least those stupid fucking flying pigs were getting ruined…that was my small consolation. But no way was I going to let that stop me from getting at the little prick. My balls were still tingling!

A rush of spirit energy in my face warned me that Kurosaki had abandoned his body, the boy rushing towards me with incredible speed, that enormous sword quickly poised at my lips before I could even blink. Damn…now I was wishing I had Pantera. But even if I'd had my sword I still didn't think I would have been able to do anything, not with the way Kurosaki was staring at me, not with how banged up I still felt. His eyes weren't normal anymore; they weren't brown. There was purpose in them, a sheen of sterling silver making him seem a hell of a lot more intimidating than he'd been a few seconds prior. Of course, that didn't mean that I was unsettled. Oh hell no. I stood my ground and stared at him over his ridiculously large blade, my tongue coming out to run sensually over the smooth, cool edge of the metal. Kurosaki's sword tasted like death and sex…and I wasn't sure what it meant that I liked it so much.

He recoiled at that, the silver leaking out of his gaze to be replaced by confusion, the sword never leaving my face. He was puzzled…I liked that. But why had such a small act confounded him so much? There was the faintest trail of pink dusting across his cheeks now…oh no fucking way…this was too easy…

"You are so fucked up," he spat, stepping back to smack me smartly in the forehead with the handle of his sword. My vision swam with the blunt force, stumbling backwards until I was sitting on the bed again. Fuck! Did the humiliations never end?! "I wish I knew what possessed you to come back and save my ass. Maybe I could have talked you out of it."

"Too late now." I looked up at the blurry twin images of him, trying to decide which one was the real one but not really able to tell. "We're both fucked."

"Shit, you're bleeding all over my bed," he whispered, setting the sword against a chair and moving to kneel in front of me. What a pretty view. He looked good between my thighs. I hadn't actually noticed it, but I was bleeding pretty hard again, the bindings not able to hold the amount of liquid they'd been presented with. I stared down at it kind of detachedly, blinking a few times when Kurosaki's hands delicately touched the ruined cloth, coming away candy-coated with bright red blood. My tongue itched with the desire to lick it off…

"If you'd stayed still this wouldn't have happened you idiot." Kurosaki was muttering under his breath, trying to force me to lie back down on the bed so he could look at me. I wasn't having it. What the fuck good would that do? It wasn't like he was some sort of healer. He'd just poke and prod and fuss at me like a damn mother hen; all the while my life's blood would be leaking out all over his clean white sheets. No thanks. I'd rather bleed all over myself sitting up like a man.

He was starting to look sincerely distressed when the door to his bedroom opened up again, light from the hallway streaming in and ruining my night vision. I hadn't realized it was even getting so dark; I'd been too preoccupied with Kurosaki to notice. That, in itself, completely bothered me. Why was he able to push my damn buttons so easily? He was a kid; I was a man. I should have had more control around him than this. So many questions, so few answers. Story of my life.

"Ichigo…what the hell?!" Another redhead, the one with hair like an aloe vera plant sticking up all over the place, stalked in. He took one look at the presented scene and promptly imploded, flailing like a middle-aged woman at a Tom Jones concert. And he was supposed to be a lieutenant? Gods…Soul Society's standards must be really low. "What happened? I thought you said you could take care of it!"

"He's not an 'it'," Ichigo snapped back, surprising everyone in the room including himself by the look on his face. I glanced at him, meeting his gaze with a fresh round of confusion…what the fuck? I wanted to say it out loud but couldn't find my voice. Seriously, what the _fuck_? What the hell did he think we were? Bestest pals? BFF? I wanted to choke him again but couldn't raise a finger to do so.

"Well…bring _him_ downstairs. They're here to talk to the King of Heuco Mundo."

Kurosaki sighed and rolled his eyes, looking at me almost sheepishly. I was instantly suspicious. There was obviously something he hadn't been telling me, the expression on his face told me that. What exactly did 'Lieutenant Lame' mean? The brat stood up and nodded, reaching down to pull my arm over his shoulder while grimacing at all the blood on the floor. I wasn't too concerned with it though…I had other things on my mind. Hadn't we just killed the king of Heuco Mundo?

That's when it hit me…they weren't talking about Aizen…

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**Big thanks for those who've been waiting so patiently for this story to get updated! This one's going to be sporadic at best, but not to worry...I will not fail! kissy faces**

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	3. Chapter 3

**Well it has been a while since my last update to this story! This chapter took me a while, despite the fact that its such a simple chapter. It's a transition chapter and those are always tough for me. Anyway! Enjoy this latest installment! :)**

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Drying blood looks terrible on a kelly green couch…

That was pretty much what my thoughts had boiled down to since I'd decided to tune out Captain Composure nearly fifteen minutes ago, concluding that the man was so far up his own ass he'd probably never see sunlight again. Really…did I need a fucking twenty-minute lecture on how "gracious" Soul Society was being in allowing me to live? Gracious? Gracious! I had single-handedly (okay Kurosaki helped) saved all their asses from certain gloom and doom at the hands of a megalomaniac intent on reshaping the cosmos, and they were being "gracious". It was enough to make me want to dig a hole in the sand and put my head into it until my brain stopped spinning from their stupidity.

Ingrates. Furthermore…

"--and I thought I might buy myself a nice pink apron and bake snickerdoodles tomorrow."

Wait, what?

Glancing upwards, I was somewhat surprised to note that every single person in the room (and there were quite a few) was staring at me with varying degrees of annoyance on their faces. Apparently, my lack of interest had not gone unnoticed by the rest of the congregation. I shifted uncomfortably for a moment, forcing down the hiss of pain that accompanied my every move, and crossed my ankle over my knee nonchalantly. Or at least I hoped it looked nonchalant. I had my doubts.

"Shall I continue from where I left off or where you lost attentiveness?" The sixth squad captain (I really had no idea what his name was) glared at me from behind his long, girly eyelashes, eyes shooting daggers in my general direction. But really, what more did I need to hear?

I was officially King of Hueco Mundo, but under…_conditions_. Conditions that I didn't want to follow and didn't want to obey. Conditions I _wouldn't_ follow and _wouldn't_ obey. They didn't know who the fuck they were dealing with if they thought that I would lap up whatever meager offerings they were dangling in front of my face as a peace offering. If I was going to be king, it was going to be under my own terms and my own judgment, not placating some pompous shinigami bitches that I'd rather rip out their sternums than listen to. I'd had my fill of that self-important crap with my previous "boss".

"I'd rather you didn't talk at all." I sniffed haughtily, rolling my eyes with disgust. "You're really a whackjob if you think that just because you stuffed shirts have decided that I should be king that everyone in Hueco Mundo is going to feel the same way."

"Why shouldn't they? They follow the one with the most power, do they not?" Captain Snore replied with a raised eyebrow. "And you are the only remaining espada, thereby making you the most powerful hollow in the world. Does this not entitle you to be king?"

"It's gonna take more than a little sweet talk to get into my pants angel-puss." I looked away then, out the window towards some kids playing in the street. Angry reiatsu was flaring all around the room, some from the dark-haired captain in front of me, some from Kurosaki who was sitting close by fussing over my bandages and the mess I was making of his furniture. He would have made a good nurse if he'd actually known what the fuck he was doing. As it was he was just bugging the living shit out of me, reaching forward every few seconds to poke and prod at my quickly healing wounds.

But really, I was just distracting myself from the obviousness of the truth. Though it may have been nothing but bullshit and flattery, the fact remained that I actually _was_ the most powerful hollow in the world. Did that make me king? As much as the idea once appealed to me, now that I was actually presented with the prospect it seemed like a lot of work. A lot of work I didn't really want to do. I mean, once upon a time I'd done nothing but wake up, chase other hollows around, eat souls, and go to bed…not exactly a complicated existence.

Being king sounded like a lot of wasted effort for no real payoff. Unless you counted the ass-kissing. I liked being on the receiving end of ass-kissing.

"Will you stop being an asshole for two minutes and listen to what they're saying!" Ichigo yelled suddenly, his eyebrows drawing close together as he scowled at me. I turned my blank face to him slowly, leaning forward until our noses were within inches of touching and I could see the apprehension flicker through his gaze. Since when did he think he could talk to me like that?! Since when did we go from beating the shit out of each other to squabbling like a married couple? It was annoying, frustrating, bothersome, vexing, and all around retarded.

"I do _not_ think you just said that to me," I whispered, feeling my skin heat up slightly from the sheer frustration of having him near me. Everything about the boy dug straight under my skin and burned, from his condescending attitude to his hair the color of a mandarin orange. Every single thing about him made my fingers itch to choke the life out of his body. He could have done nothing but breath across the street in my general direction and I would have wanted to beat him into a puddle of sloppy human jello. That's how bad I hated him. Thankfully, from the look of it, the feeling was mutual.

Without warning he was on his feet, dragging me to my own with a near agonizing grip on my forearm. What the fuck?! Before I had time to protest the two of us were standing in his pristine kitchen, blood trailing down my calves to puddle on the white tile floor below. I should have passed out from blood loss by now. Kurosaki stared at me for what seemed like an eternity, his reiatsu becoming a tangible thing in the room, heavy and thick around me. He was angry, violently so, and it was almost a comforting presence to me after so much mental uncertainty. Something familiar. It was nice to know that some things never changed.

"I never should have convinced them to let you live…never," he spat, taking two steps towards me, his voice quivering he was so angry, eyes flashing dangerously. "You don't get how close you are to dying, you're such a fucking idiot. I should paint the walls with your blood and save them the trouble of doing it!"

"You should have just left me alone when we were even." I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned my ass against his kitchen table. In reality it was mostly because I was starting to have trouble staying upright due to blood loss, but thankfully it just made me look badass and cool. I was good at looking badass and cool. "You're the one who turned this into a clusterfuck of complications, so don't go blaming me for your own stupidity."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Kurosaki cocked his head at me suddenly, his anger gone in a flash to be replaced with dumbfounded curiosity. How did he do that? When I was really furious with something (and that happened pretty often), it didn't usually go away until I was coated in someone else's blood and picking my teeth with their femur. So it confused me utterly that his anger could drain away so effortlessly…I would have almost said I was jealous, but I wasn't that sort of guy so it obviously wasn't jealousy.

I slapped my hand over my eyes, willing the murderous intent to go down so that I could speak without raising my voice and draw every shinigami in the house into the kitchen. It was a struggle though. Kurosaki pushed every single button I had, and it routinely forced me to delve into the reserves of self-restraint that I didn't even know I possessed. I wasn't exactly the master of my own emotions after all. I kind of just did whatever felt good since that's what being a hollow was all about. Maybe I could count to ten? Twenty? Sixty million?

This was never going to work.

"You're a fucking airhead," I peeked from between my ring and pinky finger, shaking my head frustratedly. "You saved me, I saved you. We were even. Now we're not and I can't kill you knowing I owe you like that. Get it?"

"No…and I'm not stupid! Your logic is just warped!" He scowled at me, looking every bit the sixteen-year-old boy he was. "What kind of person leaves a man to die when they saved his life?"

"We're enemies Kurosaki! E-n-e-m-i-e-s. I have, and probably will again, try to kill your friends…what kind of person leaves their enemies alive to hunt their loved ones?"

"Don't threaten my friends, Grimmjow."

The air in the room shifted fractionally, became almost humid around me, and for the briefest moment I saw a hint of black flash through the brat's eyes. There was someone else home there, just beyond the shining black horizon of that boy's steady gaze, a deadly presence lurking in the alleyways of his mind. I bet that darkness and I might have gotten along pretty well if the shinigami had allowed it out of its hole. Ah well…shoulda, woulda, coulda…

Long fingers pressing firmly against the middle of my chest brought me back to the present moment, those steadily-becoming-more-scary eyes trying to bore holes into my skull. Kurosaki was angry; a cool, rolling anger that flash froze the air around us as his reiatsu began to eat all the oxygen in the general vicinity. The kid was a monster…doing all this shit without even thinking about it. I was starting to have trouble breathing, my palms becoming vaguely sweaty, but regardless of all that I kept our eyes locked firmly together. He had nice eyes, especially when he was pissed off like this. Reddish brown like clay dirt dug from deep in the ground.

But I wasn't an ass-pirate or anything so it wasn't like I was looking at him like "that".

"Listen to me Grimmjow Jeagerjaques," he whispered, his voice sounding vaguely distorted and off-kilter. Underwater. "I don't know what kind of bullshit you think you're pulling, but your life…it's mine now. I saved it, so it's mine. Get it?"

I most certainly did not.

Before he could say another word the two of us were through the nearest window, glass scattering around our bodies as we tussled in the grass behind his house. My wounds were like nothing now compared to the rush of my anger surging through my blood, set aflame by his words. His. _His._ **His?** _**His!?**_ Never. Absolutely never. I would have much rather died, been burned alive, had my lungs eaten by little rats, anything rather than having my life laying so firmly in the palm of the one person in the world I could not stand. In some twisted way, this was probably divine justice coming to bite me in the ass, but I didn't care. I didn't want to belong to anyone anymore…I wasn't going to be someone's possession ever again!

His body struggled furiously beneath mine, hands reaching up to wrap purposely around my throat even though he was obviously at a disadvantage. Perfect eyes were shining angrily up at me, pure gold set in a sea of black, the monster inside that pretty face breaking free of its imprisonment for the whole world to see. Or at least me. I loved this side of Kurosaki, so much like myself, so enraptured in the bliss of fighting and the sheer bloodlust trickling into his fingers as they clenched around my neck savagely. It was almost like a beautiful painting come to life, and I found myself wanting to just sit and stare at him for a while.

Too bad I was losing air fast and Kurosaki was looking more feral by the moment.

Wrenching backwards, I felt a growl rumble up from my throat as I lunged forward once again, my canines sinking into Kurosaki's neck near the windpipe and holding on as tightly as I could. His struggles became even more impassioned against me, the sweet taste of copper rushing against my tongue as voices began to ring up around me from all directions. His friends were coming to save him, but no one seemed to be grabbing at either one of us as we scuffled together like the barbarians we pretty much were.

What the fuck was up?

I felt the kidou hit me before I could react, watching in stunned silence as Kurosaki was hit with a similar spell, his body going rigid underneath me even while his eyes sparkled with fury. My jaws slackened their deathgrip on the soft flesh between my teeth as my body fell in a heap down into the grass, breaths becoming calm despite the fact that my body was rushing with adrenaline and I was anything _but_ calm. The two of us glared at each other as we were hauled to our feet, unable to actually move our bodies so we were pretty much dead weight to the people who held us.

"You two are absolute brutes!" the small girl with the black hair shouted, smacking Kurosaki hard upside his face. It sort of looked like it hurt. A lot. I got to find out first hand about five seconds later when that hand came around to my own face, the slap stinging a little…though not as much as her hand from the way she recoiled and looked down at her palm. Hah! Take that tiny bitch! Iron skin, remember?

"That will be more than enough of that." A tall man with white hair (and eyebrows that didn't match…weird) walked up through the group, surveying us with a smile that I _knew_ had to be fake. He was one of those kinds of people who would smile while he stabbed you between the eyes and apologize while you twitched and died on the ground. I didn't like him. Granted, I didn't really like anyone, but I particularly disliked this guy. His fake smile reminded me of Aizen…and anything associated with _that man_ was really enough to raise the hair on my neck.

The spell was slowly beginning to wear off, allowing me to pull myself away from the arms that held me and stand on my own, glancing over Kurosaki who was pressing his hand up to the bloody wound on his neck. I grinned over at him and he scowled at me, snorting dismissively before turning to look away. Apparently the fight had been slapped out of him. Who knew the little tart had that kind of magic sitting in her hand.

"No more discussion," the white-haired man continued, that fake smile faltering as he spoke. "You, Grimmjow Jeagerjaques, are the official king of Hueco Mundo. And as such I have been permitted to treat with you. However, as we need our governing body to approve such measures, the actual diplomacy must wait until the entire Central 46 has been reformed."

"And what does that mean for me?" I asked suspiciously. "What am I supposed to be doing in the meantime?"

"Getting Hueco Mundo all cleaned up, of course!" He smiled again, broad and annoying. Suddenly I had the urge to break something expensive, maybe something made of crystal, but the Kurosaki family apparently didn't own anything that would work. Fucking cheapskates. "And while you're at it, learning the niceties of being king! And we have _just_ the person to help you! I'm sure you two will get along quite nicely since you're already so close!"

Okay, now I was really _really_ suspicious. I wasn't "close" to anyone. My distrust must have showed because everyone in the room suddenly took a step backwards as though I were about to blow up another wall or something. That actually sounded pretty good, blowing something up. I wasn't made for this sort of "talking" bullshit. I was more an action sort of guy. And I was certainly no diplomat. No one in Hueco Mundo was going to listen to me. Especially when I had absolutely no idea what the fuck I was talking about.

"Oh…and who would that be?" I pushed my hair back from my face, picking at a bit of glass that was stuck in between the strands.

"Why, you were just gnawing on him! And you must like one another at least somewhat if you're willing to save each other's lives over and over again."

"What?!" Both our voices rose in unison, gawking at each other with what had to be equally shocked expressions.

Yeah, this was divine punishment biting me in the ass.

I wasn't sure what Kurosaki had done to deserve it…but it looked like we had plenty of time to figure that out.

Fuck. Being king sucked already.

* * *

**Thanks to everybody who sticks with me even though i'm a horribly slow writer! Happy Holidays everyone, may your holiday season be peaceful. :)**


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